


the strange idea of continuous living

by cute moon (tealmoon)



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Black & White | Pokemon Black and White Versions
Genre: Agoraphobia, Gen, Minor Injuries, Post-BW2, Post-Canon, Recovery, Rehabilitation, Social Anxiety, technically self-harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-06
Updated: 2020-10-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26866255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tealmoon/pseuds/cute%20moon
Summary: Life after Team Plasma is hard.
Relationships: Helena | Concordia & N | Natural Harmonia Gropius & Verbena | Anthea
Comments: 5
Kudos: 26





	the strange idea of continuous living

The week doesn’t feel complete without their brother’s calls. Now that they’ve figured out video calls on both ends, he pops up on their screen, tinny-voiced and beaming. In the last two months, she’s seen him sunburn, and then faintly tan. He has some freckles on his cheeks now, though she could only see them in a “selfie” and not through the imprecise webcam. He wears the mass of his hair in a ponytail, or sometimes a bun, and it looks shorter than it did.

Anthea is rather certain she hasn’t changed at all, but N— _Nat_ —comments that she smiles more now. Which is strange, because Hoenn is a very stressful place to a girl who lived in Unova all her life, rarely leaving the castle or Plasma’s safe-houses. (Trapped in Unova, her therapist would say, but she can’t bring herself to agree, not yet.) She mostly feels strange and displaced.

The time difference between Alola and Hoenn is such that the two of them are often still in their pajamas, while Nat messages them on his lunch break. The day is usually easier to start when she can hear him talk about this coworker or that foster Pokemon or the classes he’s taking in Hau'oli City.

Seeing him doesn’t help her, this morning. He is doing as well as ever, his team peeking around him to see them, and he ends the call early to attend some sort of festival. Anthea looks at her younger brother, who is making a new life for himself away from cruelty and restriction, and all she can feel is a molten sourness in her chest.

It’s not the first time she’s been jealous—Nat the hero, Nat the king, Nat who was allowed to play with Pokemon, Nat whose chaperone was more lenient and eventually drifted out of service at all. Nat who could travel and explore, while she feels trapped in this little apartment.

With the call concluded, she busies herself with the laptop, skimming emails and checking the week’s weather report. Concordia whirls into motion, and Anthea is still in her Mareep-print pajamas when her sister finishes eating breakfast and comes out fully dressed, ready to start the day.

It had taken time for the two of them, _adult women_ , to properly learn how to ride bicycles, and now Concordia uses hers for courier work, delivering food and letters and all sorts of things so long as it fits in the basket of her bike. She even tackles the high-speed bike trail leading away from Slateport. Lately, she too had begun to tan and smells of berry-scented sunscreen.

Anthea’s day progresses more slowly. Without the restless energy of her siblings to shame her into motion, she dresses slowly, lingering too long over which blouse was best. They wear modern clothing now, even pants. Concordia often bemoans the weight of her hair in such a sunny climate, and any day now, she’s sure to have it cut, like Nat has.

Anthea left hers loose and itches whenever she thinks of changing it. For her, the world changes slowly or she doesn’t move at all.

Today is a day for groceries. She had ordered all of their groceries for months, but her therapist in Mauville keeps encouraging her to buy them in person. It’s been two months since she dropped a carton of eggs as her heart tried to escape her body, and one month where she had fled the market with only bread and paper towels out of a very long list, and Concordia had come home to see her huddled underneath the kitchen table and shaking. She’s a little better at it now.

Anthea checks herself twice: shoes on, handbag over her shoulder, keys, grocery list, and wallet securely in the middle pocket, cloth grocery bag in the other hand. It had only taken one instance of locking herself out and crying against the door to become vigilant about it. At the jingling of her key chain and its many charms, Minun toddles off of the couch and up to her, arms held out. He goes into her bag too, head poking out.

It had seemed sacrilegious when her therapist first suggested a therapy Pokemon. Pokemon had suffered through enough at the hands of humans. It wasn’t battling, but the thought of forcing one to be some... some sort of _caretaker_ to her sounded cruel. It had taken many visits to the training center to see how happy Minun seemed at seeing her, and she’d even put Minun on the phone with her brother, to confirm he didn’t feel coerced to help.

Anthea was starting to understand people who talked about Pokemon as their partners.

Now that she has Minun, it’s much easier to step out of the apartment. She held her bag close, tiptoeing down the hallway. Concordia might enjoy talking with the neighbors, but she wishes they could stay discreet. She doubts that the public can tell that she had been a Team Plasma member, but there’s something much easier about _Anna and Connie_. The general public didn’t need to know Ghetsis had multiple children.

For all her complaints, Slateport is a beautiful place. She had never been so close to the sea before, and the ever-present Wingull were adorable. She couldn’t bring herself to brave the beach and its tourists yet, but the sound of the waves helped her sleep at night.

She had dawdled too long, and now the market is crowded with people browsing before the Pokemon Contests begin. Arms brush against hers, and a pair of young boys nearly knock her over as they run past. A trickle of sweat runs down her neck despite the cool breeze.

As she selects mushrooms and seaweed, she feels herself hunching inward. Minun climbs out of her bag to settle on her shoulder. The weight helps, as do the nuzzles and tiny sparks he leaves against her neck, too small to hurt but enough to help her pay and move on.

It helps enough to buy rice without issue, but her hands visibly shake as she examines a loaf of bread. Can she really complete her ambitious list? Concordia would be tired when she got home, and it’d be terrible to make her do it instead. They’re out of essentials, and she doesn’t have enough berries to make the pie she plans to bring to group therapy in a few days.

Some of the vendors recognize her by now, and she has a pleasant, if stilted conversation with the man who sells his own orchard-grown berries. He has such a wide variety that she tries a new one each time; this week, it’s a Magost berry. She selects dozens of berries, then moves onto the rows of jam.

Someone at the Combee-keepers stall next to her begins to haggle in a loud voice over the price of lavender honey, and her eyes blur, leaving her list impossible to read. Someone’s bag collides with her elbow. Anthea can hardly breathe.

She holds a jam jar up to the light, ostensibly to read the label, but her eyes can’t focus. A child screams, in joy rather than terror, but the two sound so similar, and her hands slip. The jar shatters on the pavement.

The vendor is saying something in a grimace, but the ringing in Anthea’s ears climbs to higher and higher pitches, until she doesn’t know how the rest of the world can’t hear it too. “I’m—I’m sorry, I... Here, this should pay for it...” She thrust out several coins and crumpled bills, letting them drop to the table when the man doesn’t take them.

The jar is the true problem. Children run around the market, often barefoot or in flimsy sandals; someone could cut their feet. Anthea kneels down and begins to gather the mess of jam and shards into a pile with a wad of tissues. When she sweeps her hands over the stone to find stray glass, too small to see, they begin to bleed, but at least no one will get hurt now.

Everyone is staring at her, she realizes, after she drops the whole mess into a trashcan. Her hands are dripping blood, her face feels suspiciously damp, and isn’t that the town librarian over there, looking at her with pity? Anthea had started braving the library a month ago, and from the number of recommendations she asked for, the woman knew her on sight. How would she be able to show her face in the library again, let alone the market? Her breath comes out as a wheeze.

Minun comes to her rescue. He jumps from her shoulder and tugs on her pant leg, sparking and squeaking. When she finally comes to, he begins to run ahead, leading her through the crowd and out of the market. The bright yellow and blue is easy to track, and she can’t think of anything else. When she makes it free from the crowd, Anthea runs until she finally can lock the apartment door behind her.

There’s blood smeared on the doorknob, and more on the straps of her grocery bag. Her face is sticky from crying, and her nose is running. Anthea staggers to the kitchen table and collapses into her chair. In the end, her trip has amounted to a bag of rice, assorted berries, and the makings of a salad. There’s barely enough to make tonight’s dinner, let alone meals for the whole week. Concordia is going to be so disappointed in her.

Father never let her or Concordia cry as children, even when tending to wounded Pokemon. They had to be pillars of strength for their little brother. Her sobs are quiet now, to avoid attention from the neighbors. Minun hops onto the table to rummage through her purse and offer bandages. She numbly dots her hands in Jigglypuff and Pikachu designs, all the while Minun croons in comfort.

Maybe they’ll order a pizza for the night, and she can try shopping again tomorrow. Earlier, she promises herself, despite how difficult it is to leave bed. Early in the morning, before the crowds. These thoughts are barely a comfort, but they propel her forward. What little groceries she has go into the fridge and pantry, and she cleans up the blood.

It’s still late morning, far too soon for a lunch she doesn’t have the ingredients to make, and Anthea is exhausted. Holding Minun close, she stumbles into her tiny bedroom and locks the door. The apartment may feel like a cage, but at least no one stares at her but the row of Pokedolls on her windowsill. She’s free to huddle under her quilt, sharing the pillow with Minun. It feels childish—she raised her little brother and cared for dozens of Pokemon, but now she can barely stay upright.

The outside world shouldn’t be so frightening. Concordia took to it easily, but Anthea finds herself lagging behind in a world too big and strange.

Tomorrow, she’ll try again.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from "Instructions on Not Giving Up" by Ada Limón. 
> 
> I had to cut it, but I'd like to think that Anthea gets a lady love interest in the form of a ex-Aqua member who attends the same support group. 
> 
> Please just....let these two women have personalities and lives.


End file.
